Our Lucky Contestants

A ruddy nose emerged in the gap between the curtains. Above, two beady eyes glared at the children who dared to play outside. Then there was a flash. Startled, the children looked towards the window, but it was empty. This would prove to be an unusual day for Andrew Shaw.

Blinding lights. A squealing cacophony; was it supposed to be music? He shielded his eyes with one arm and blinked stupidly into the glare.

‘-- prepare for the contest of their lives, as they represent their planets in the galaxy’s favourite game show: Play Your Krxxczbs Right!’

A great cheer went up from the crowd in front; a thousand tongues, vocal flaps, and speech holes all vibrating together in ecstatic reverie. A tall, green creature gesticulated towards them with arms like broom handles. He -- it? -- was wearing a shimmering, orange-blue jacket.

Andrew was in a row of dozens of creatures; to his immediate left was a brass robot in a vaguely humanoid shape; to his right, an amorphous yellow blob which smelled faintly of rotting meat. He bristled at being forced to stand in such undignified company.

‘Let’s begin with round one - it’s everyone’s favourite, the Kr’retch of Destiny!’

A great wheel was brought on-stage, each segment marked with a different symbol. Andrew decided immediately that he wouldn’t play along. He wasn’t about to be made a fool of by a bunch of Hallowe’en costumes and an oversized jelly pudding.

Lights span around the edge of the wheel, slowed down, and then stopped above a squiggly cube symbol. The crowd gasped. Andrew rolled his eyes.

‘Oh dear! The contestant from Outer Prrxia has landed on the Third Kr’retchka.’

A small metal tube emerged from the floor with a deep hum. It glowed red, then orange. A beam of light hurtled from the tube to a hairy creature just two places away from Andrew. There was a burst of flame.

Andrew leaned backwards and saw a smoking lump of charred flesh. He swallowed.

Perhaps it would be best if he tried to win after all.

And so the game progressed. Each round featured some bizarre game of chance, and each game invariably led to another inventive way of reducing a contestant to a pile of boiled meat. The host leered and cackled as the slaughter continued, and the audience shrieked for more.

Andrew did his best to play along, all the while keeping his furrowed brow fixed with an air of quiet indignation. It seemed to work, and he somehow survived each new round of horrors.

Eventually, he was among just four remaining contestants: the yellow blob, the brass android, and a pillar of flesh topped with pink hairs that waved as if caught in a breeze. Andrew looked on as a watermelon-headed creature scraped what was left of the most recent loser off the stage.

‘And so we come to the final, quick-fire round!’ cried the host, hopping excitedly on slender legs.

Andrew straightened up. If general knowledge was the game, he was sure to be in with a chance. Maybe he could win this after all?

‘What is the reaction where two atoms of hydrogen combine to form an atom of helium?’

Andrew quickly buzzed in: ‘Fusion,’ he said.

‘Correct!’ trilled the host. Andrew allowed himself a half-smile. He’d read about fusion in a magazine once.

‘And now,’ continued the host, ‘from those who did not answer, one is disqualified at random.’

A light flashed above each of the other contestants in turn. It slowed. It stopped. The metal pipe shot up from its recess in the floor, swivelled to face the yellow blob, and disintegrated it. The audience whooped. Andrew’s smile faded.

‘Second question: What is the boiling point of water--’

The brass robot interrupted: ‘One hundred and forty degrees.’

The host gave a saccharine smile.

‘I’m afraid you didn’t let me finish. That may be correct on Tyrghania, but I was looking for the boiling point of water on Aarkfaul, which is nineteen degrees.’

The android twitched. The beam fired.

Andrew felt sweat dripping down his neck. It was just him and the pillar of flesh left now. Fifty-fifty.

‘Final question,’ said the host, revelling in the tension. ‘How many Lungumeny comprise a K'krixkux?’

Andrew despaired. Gibberish. Complete gibberish. It was all over now. He looked to his left. The pillar of flesh stood impassively.

... It didn’t know either. There was still a chance.

He cleared his throat. He swallowed hard. He answered.

‘Th-- Three?’

The host smiled.

---

Written for the weekly short story competition on the 'Writer's Block' Discord server.